


Assistance needed

by Builder



Series: Spiderverse [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Helpful Pepper Potts, Peter Parker and the terrible horrible no good very bad day, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 19:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12588596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Peter's sick while staying the night at the Avengers facility upstate.  Tony's a little out of his depth, but Pepper's there to step up.





	Assistance needed

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt from Tumblr. Find me @Builder051

When Peter jolts awake sweaty and shaky and not quite sure where he is, his first instinct is to sit up in bed.  He already can’t remember the details of the nightmare as he reaches over to turn on the lamp, but leftover adrenaline still courses through him and makes his chest heave as if he’s been running a marathon.

Peter wipes a moustache of sweat on the sleeve of his pajamas and presses his clammy palms to the bedspread, trying to ground himself and dispel the panic that’s crystalizing behind his forehead and in his throat.  “Ok.  Stop it, you’re ok,” Peter mumbles to himself as he attempts to control his breath.

“Actually, Mr. Parker, your current body temperature is reading over 102 degrees Fahrenheit,” FRIDAY’s disembodied voice reports.

Peter jumps at the sudden intrusion of sound.  “Jesus,” Peter mutters, shaking his head and bringing on an onslaught of vertigo.  He feels shitty enough to believe he is spiking a fever, but really?  Why is this coming out of nowhere in the middle of the night?  He’s supposed to be headed off on a mission with Mr. Stark tomorrow.  Or today.  Peter has no idea if it’s past midnight or not.  He hopes it’s not so that maybe he has a chance to roll over and sleep this off.

The plan doesn’t quite work out, though, because the next thing Peter has to do is sprint to the bathroom ahead of the sick lump rising in his throat. He heaves over the toilet, hoping this is just the exotic dinner Mr. Stark provided not agreeing with him, or maybe the product of overheating in his sleep.  But the way each retch amps up the throb in his head and the electric prickle of goosebumps on his arms, Peter knows there’s no denying that he’s ill.

“Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?” FRIDAY asks when Peter’s stomach is empty and he’s dry heaving for the fourth or fifth time.

“No, I’m ok,” Peter groans back to the AI.

“You’re becoming dehydrated,” FRIDAY replies.  “Alternatively, I could call 911.”

“No, no, don’t do that,” Peter says.  He fights a gag as he finds his footing.  “Here, I’m getting a drink of water.”  He’s about to flip on the faucet when suddenly his knees can’t support him anymore and he collapses, banging both elbows into the marble countertop.

“Fuck,” Peter hisses.  Then, “Ok, yeah, maybe call Mr. Stark.”

He’s hunched over the porcelain toilet bowl again when footsteps approach.  “What’s going on?” Tony asks sleepily.

“Uh, just…not feeling so good,” Peter replies, his voice echoing off the cloudy water in front of him.

FRIDAY reports his temperature and the number of times he’s thrown up.

Peter blushes fiercely.  Or maybe his cheeks just flush with fever while accompanying dizziness buzzes through his ear canals.

“It’s too early for this,” Tony says.  “Just…try to go back to sleep.  See how you’re feeling in the morning…  C’mon Pep, back to bed.”

“What? No,” Another voice protests.  Peter recognizes Pepper’s soft tone.  Gentle footfalls cross the tile floor and someone crouches down at Peter’s shoulder.  “Go back to bed if you want, Tony, but I’m gonna stay here with him.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Tony’s slipper-clad footsteps retreat.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you get up,” Peter apologizes pushing down tightness in his throat as his stomach flip uncomfortably.

“You’re not making me do anything,” Pepper says.  “I want to make sure you’re ok.”

“But, Mr. Stark…”

“Don’t worry about him,” Pepper insists.  “He’s had one too many.  I’ll straighten him out later.”  She delicately lays her cool fingers across the back of Peter’s neck.  “Ok.  We need to try to get that fever down.”

She disappears for a few minutes to gather supplies, and Peter can’t keep stomach acid from clawing its way up his throat again.  He doesn’t see Pepper return with Gatorade and ibuprofen because he’s too busy trying not to form too close a relationship with the toilet.

“Hey, ok, breathe through it,” Pepper intones, stroking Peter’s back and attempting to soothe his spastic coughing.

“I don’t know what happened,” Peter says once he can inhale and exhale again.  “I just woke up and I felt sick all the sudden…I’m…really sorry.”

“Hey, stop, ok?  You have a fever.  It makes weird stuff happen in your body.  It’s ok.”  Pepper dampens a washcloth and wrings it out.  “Do you want to drink some water?  Or some of this?”  She nods at the bottle of blue Gatorade on the edge of the counter.

“Maybe,” Peter says.  “I don’t know it it’ll…if it’ll…”  He’s too embarrassed to say the rest.

“If you throw up again, you throw up again.”  Pepper shrugs.  “But at least you won’t be quite so empty.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Peter sighs.  “This is…really nice of you.”

“I’ve had more than enough practice with Tony,” Pepper laughs.  “But I have to say you’re a better patient.  A lot more polite.”  She uncaps the sports drink and hands it down.

Peter shakily accepts the bottle and takes the smallest of sips.  “Thanks, Aunt M— I mean, Miss.  Miss Potts.”

“It’s Pepper.  Seriously,” Pepper cracks a grin.  “Only person, well, thing, that calls me that is FRIDAY.  Maybe it’s a good thing Tony’s training the chivalry out of you.”

Peter responds by belching the Gatorade back up into the toilet.


End file.
